


Liar Liar

by LysSerris



Series: One-Shot [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bellamione Cult Discord Game, Bellamione Cult Ilvermorny Cup, Discord: Bellamione Cult, F/F, Ink Magic, One Shot, Soul Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-11 14:10:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19929349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LysSerris/pseuds/LysSerris
Summary: Tell me sweet little lies.





	Liar Liar

**Author's Note:**

> Poorly edited one-shot, based off a prompt.

Bellatrix’s skin was covered.

Long black strikes against her soul were emblazoned across the skin of her arms, legs, torso, everywhere there was skin there was a mark. One for each and every lie she’d ever told since she was old enough to speak. Her first had been confusing, a little white lie of childhood, blackening a length of her skin until she wore a bracelet that she could never take off. She was much the same as everyone else. They all wore their marks just as they all wore their Sins, some more obvious than others but present still the same.

As she’d grown she’d turned the magic into her own personal game. The rules were simple; see how many lies she could tell in a single day.

Lie, watch and wait for a mark to appear, marvel at the beauty of the magic burned into her soul, repeat. That stunt had earned her a trip to a Mind-Healer where words like  _ ‘compulsive liar, reacts negatively to authority,’ _ were tossed about and spoken in hushed whispers. She hadn’t cared. Each lie had been  _ her _ choice to make and no matter how badly her father would beat her afterwards, she’d never stop.

Now she held more marks than she could count and each were beautiful in their own right. They littered her body from her toes to her back in some lengths as short as a millimeter. The longest was a strapping line two centimeters thick that rang the length of her torso from her clavicle to her pubic bone, beautiful despite its size.

It was safe for her to say that no one in the world held more marks than she did.

The Dark Lord had approached her at the close of her seventh year of schooling, and she’d agreed before He’d even finished speaking. Training, elevation, all that she could want or ask for. And all she needed to do was to remain at His side. An easy choice. And ever since she’d never wavered, never lost sight of her commitment in the face of His compassion for her situation. He’d even stepped before her father when she turned eighteen, cowering in a corner from the pain of Cygnus’s wand, the pain that came from refusal to yield. Her Lord had raised His voice but once to settle the matter.

Cygnus had backed off after that. He’d let her be alone with no comment or glances filled with hate. Rodolphus had thanked her profusely, happy to kneel before her Lord and take the burning Mark just so long as it let him keep his freedom.

It hadn’t, he’d just changed Masters, but the sting of a Cruciatus was a more bearable shackle than the expectation of polite society.

She had suffered for her actions, then and later, not able to lie before the Courts when she was eventually captured. Stripped bare for all to see while the Ministry’s lapdogs strode around her and watched, waited, hoping for a black mark to appear.

None had.

It hadn’t been an effort to save herself, she knew she was well and truly fucked, but it was a service to her missing Master. It was pride that ran through her veins as the narrow-minded men leered at her body and came away with nothing to say except,  _ ‘She’s telling the truth.’ _

And then she’d gone and nearly wasted away in the Hell nicknamed Azkaban. She’d nearly lost what remained of her sanity and her soul while the Dementors did their work and made each and every stripe on her skin burn and blister with their aura.

When her Lord had broken her free she’d prostrated herself before His feet and wept tears of joy as words of thanks and fealty tumbled past her broken teeth in thanks to Him and all he stood for.

It took time, by Merlin it always did, but eventually she was healed enough to be put to proper use. An attack. An ambush. A mission to retrieve something invaluable and fragile for her Lord, and she’d practically jumped at the opportunity. 

And now she found herself hidden among softly glowing orbs and strange eerie lights while her eyes roved across the space in between for any sign of potential threat. For a sign of the Brats. When they finally did arrive it didn’t take them long to find the Prophecy and for all the rest to go to pot. Potter handed it off to some pretty little thing that ran and sprinted like a doe driven by her teeth, all flight and no fight in her bid to escape.

Bellatrix eventually won. Like she always did. Cornering the young witch, young soul, trapping her beneath a veil of smoke and arms that ended in too sharp nails. Forcing the little witch to push backwards into masonry and stone, to force her to stare into the madness she knew highlighted her face.

The girl shivered once, twice, and Bellatrix leaned in close.

“Give me the Prophecy,” she purred, voice strong with a silken tone that was just as liable to strike fear in a heart as it was to inspire lust.

“I don’t have it,” the girl replied, a thin black line no thicker than Bellatrix’s pinky suddenly drawing itself like a noose around the girls neck, a choker made of sin.

Bellatrix had grinned then, and oh how she imagined she must have looked. All feral eyes, sharp teeth, might and anger and madness staring down at the girl and  _ knowing _ that she was lying.

“Pet, give me the Prophecy.” Her voice had turned to a growl as her anger churned and floated just beneath the surface, kept at bay only by how cute the little chit was. She pressed in closer after that, never one to do things half measured, she had a job to complete and by Merlin’s blood beard, she’d complete the damned thing.

“I don’t have it.”

Another line crossed her throat after that, encircling completely for all the world to see her lie and Bellatrix had howled out laughter as she watched the skin turn. She would have had the prophecy after that moment, were it not for the intervention of one of the other Brats. A spell, red and crackling and tinting the air with ozone as it passed, missed her shoulder by only millimeters and sped off to smash into the wall. It showered both of them with dust and debris and offered the Mudblood the perfect opportunity to toss the Prophecy, the Orb -  _ the intensely delicate could shatter at any fucking moment glass piece of Destiny - _ off to Potter himself.

Bellatrix whirled around and grabbed the girl's throat as she moved, trapping the little witch between the pressure on her throat and the warmth at her back. She crushed and squeezed and bore down until the girl labored her breaths and fought with little effort to remove the arm at her windpipe.

“Potter!” Her shout was loud and as emphasized as she could make it, “Drop it, drop it now or she dies!”

Her wand tip was pointed up against the girls chin until she was forced to look away and give Bellatrix the perfect view of the underside of her own wrist. Tendons straining with the effort of her grip, the looping circle of her first lie, the scar that her father had driven her to when she was ten. It was all in perfect view. And now, after that statement, so was a small mark. Insignificant, but a mark nonetheless.

A mark of Sin.

Her breath stilled in her throat while her heart began hammering away with such ferocity she worried it would break from her chest. Her sudden silence was taken by the Brat to mean he had time to mull the decision over, and quite frankly she was alright with that. It let her stare at the blasted darkness with all her focus. 

She unconsciously pulled the girl closer into her chest and kept her ears open for any sign of spellwork or the quick feet of someone moving. But everyone was still and quiet, all eyes still on Potter. She was so enamored with her wrist that she nearly missed when Lucius began trying to calm the brat, to get him to turn over the Orb. She squeezed harder.

What happened next was so quiet, so hidden, that she nearly missed it. That it was accompanied by a shiver is what really brought her attention forward.

A breath.

A moan.

Something slight and unintentional that proved the girl had not consciously done it, but it happened nonetheless.

Bellatrix, now amused and confused at the same time, leaned in closer to the girl’s ear until her lips traced the outline of it, “Do you like this, Pet?”

“N-no,” came a whispered response from deep in the girl's throat, her voice no more than a hoarse whisper and a wheeze from the hold Bellatrix had upon her neck. She didn’t get a chance to see if the girl was lying. The Brat, in all his infinite wisdom, shattered the Prophecy at his feet during the same moment his compatriots began firing into the shelving. They nearly brought the entire room down upon their heads.

Bellatrix left.

\---

Hermione couldn't stop crying. 

Three questions. 

Three marks. 

The pain of Dolohov’s curse was nothing at all compared to the line that rode the curve of muscle in her left forearm, starting at the crook of her elbow and extending towards her wrist in a straight line. 

A black line. 

Hermione felt like never speaking again. 

\---

The second encounter that Bellatrix had with the little witch was different but no less maddening.

She had spent a good portion of the intervening time on missions, running one after the other at a blistering pace while she worked her way through Muggle and Mud alike.

But it was here. Now.

Inside a dingy little alley, in a dingy little shop, in a dingy little room that smelled like cat piss and old furniture.  _ It was tonight. _

Her nephew had proved himself, had done well in his service to their Lord. He’d spent more than a little bit of time and energy in service to his mission and now that the cabinet was restored it was  _ the _ night. She stepped through the portal with no real sense of trepidation, just elation at the thrill of the hunt and the lives she would soon hold in the palm of her hand. 

The battle had preceded her by the time she finally arrived, Snivellus standing alongside her nephew while they kept the old Goat on the ropes. The fight was on once the final spell was cast and the sickly green color faded into the darkness. She was unleashed.

Her body became a whirlwind of destruction and pain. Sorrow and blood flew from her wand in her effort to inflict and maim while she ripped plaster and stone from the walls, tearing the castle apart. 

Until she cornered someone.

_ The  _ someone.

The one who’d managed to mark her, the one who’d caused her to gouge out the offending mark with her blade. The one who’d made her set a curse upon her skin that left flesh torn and bleeding evermore.

She advanced on the little witch and barreled off as a mist of dark intent until she was able to throw herself upon her prey. They moved and rose until it was all she could feel; warm skin, heart beating furiously in a chest, her chest, their chest. Around and up and down through the corridor and out windows she tangled and gripped down while furiously trying to make a mark. It lasted seconds, though felt like minutes, and once she was done posturing she released her.

The witch was bound between her body and a wall with no one around and only the faint sound of spellfire echoing down the multitude of corridors to reach them.

Eye pierced eye, black to brown, as breath was shared in the little space left between them. Her eyes traced the pattern of skin, her choker, her mark.

And then she  _ bit _ that fucking line and clamped down her teeth in an effort to wring a scream from that beautiful throat.

All she received was a moan.

\---

Thirteen lines, thirteen questions, thirteen lies. 

Hermione Granger swore she'd never lie again. 

A line appeared. 

\---

Bellatrix was confused.

Or more accurately, she was intrigued.

Greyback had brought in the trio less than an hour ago and now stood off in another hall to choke back blood, her thanks to him. And now she stood in a room while her body ached and burned as she thanked all the Gods for how lucky they all were.

Her mind was level. Even. A straight line just as black as the ones she’d given this girl just minutes ago.

Her neck was black now. One hour was proving itself to be quite revealing and quite gratifying all at the same time.

Question.

Line.

Cruciatus.

Repeat.

It was leaving the girl - _ Muddy, Pet, Mudblood, Mudpup _ \- in a state more to Bellatrix’s liking. Leaving her as something she could appreciate.

The band around her neck had grown and grown as the minutes ticked onward. She’d dispensed of the clothes right when they’d started, intent as she was with watching the tanned flesh bear evidence of any lies.

That band was now a collar that leashed the girl to her deepest secrets.

And Bellatrix loved it. Loved the way a new mark would appear, loved all the haunting screams that turned to panting breaths and sudden moans as she soothed the cramping muscles with firm hands and wet tongue.

She’d already gotten all the information she needed. Even a half-baked legilimens like her could strip the girls mind bare for all to see. This exercise was just… A reward.

A reward with one final question.

“Do you want to leave?” When the question left her lips she bit down on the flush skin, more sure than ever before that she knew what would come out.

A line appeared.

**Author's Note:**

> Like Bellamione? https://discord.gg/pcfMU4F come on in and join the server!


End file.
